


Trouble with the Help

by gallifreyslostson



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Rose is rejected by her first love, she avoids going home, instead finding her own place in the world and society.  But when illness brings her back home, she faces a very different John Smith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaynibbler16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaynibbler16/gifts).



Rose Tyler eyed her reflection critically, tugging her knee length, high waisted dress to lay the way she wanted.  It probably would if she lost ten pounds and grew four inches, but since neither of those were likely to happen in the next ten minutes--or ever, really--she gave up and lurched toward the bottle of rum sitting on her vanity table.  She’d already taken a few shots of liquid courage, and she told herself this had to be the last, or she’d be facing the very real possibility of vomiting up her dinner as well as her words.

She could still remember the day that John Smith had come to interview for the butler position.  She'd been fifteen, just a few months after her father's sudden Vitex wealth had started pouring in and they'd moved to the big-beyond-all-sense mansion.  She'd answered the door, and he'd smiled at her, and she'd been done for.  She and Shireen had snuck down to her dad's study in time to hear the interview:

_"So tell me, John... Why should I give you the job?"_

_"Because I need it, and I'm here, and you want to."_

_"Really? What makes you say that?"_

_"Because I'm willing to bet that I'm the first one who's walked through that door who hasn't looked like he's got a cricket bat stuck up his arse, and the only one who doesn't care if you made your money last century or last week.  You need me, because you haven’t got any patience for this toff bit either, and you want someone who isn’t gonna look down his nose at you while taking your money. Also, your daughter smiled at me, so that must count for something."_

Her dad had laughed at the sheer audacity, and hired him on the spot.  Rose and Shireen had snuck back up to Rose’s room to moon about the new butler, making theories about his likes, dislikes, and love life.

That was four years ago.  Since then, John had been a dream butler for her dad--charming when he needed to be, but capable of transforming into a chilly stone wall at a moment’s notice--as well as a friend to Rose while she navigated tricky obstacles of adolescence, like friends, dates, and physics.  He’d been the one to reassure her when her old friends from the estate started avoiding her and her new classmates looked down on her, and the one to stay up late watching old Hitchcock movies with her when her date for a dance she’d been looking forward to cancelled at the last minute for Lady bloody Cassandra--basically her arch-nemesis.

John didn’t treat her like a council brat or a newly rich interloper or an heiress or even a kid.  He actually listened when she spoke, and never spoke in a way that felt like she was getting a pat on the head or being brushed aside.  He always had time to spare for her, no matter what was going on in the house.

All of which meant that ever since that first smile at the door, she’d been completely, totally in love with him.

Thing was, she’d be okay with it all being tragically unrequited, she really would, because there was something romantic in that too, any Regency novel would back her up.  But there were moments, lately, where she wasn’t so sure.  A certain look he’d give her, especially if he didn’t think she was looking, and the way his hand seemed to reach for hers whenever they were in close proximity, the way she could always make him smile, no matter how stressed out he was, all spoke to the possibility that maybe there might be something like requited affection on his end.

But she was leaving tomorrow.  It was only three months til Christmas holiday, but still.  She told herself that if she was ever going to tell John how she felt, now was the time.

Maybe after another shot.

She ignored the party being held in her honor in the ballroom, instead sneaking down to the kitchen.  She paused outside the door, straightening her dress again and taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

The chatter between a couple of servers, the cook, and the butler stopped suddenly as she entered, and all but John scattered to the winds, something that’d always annoyed her.  But John had never acted like that.

Just another reason she adored him.

“Miss Tyler,” he said in greeting, grinning widely at her as he took her hand and spun her.  “Pretty as a painting, as always.  But what are you doing down here?  Shouldn’t you be mingling with the creme de la creme of society?”

“Probably,” she agreed with a shrug.  “Not really my scene, though.  More fun down here with you.”

He hummed doubtfully, burying his hands in his pockets and studying her.  “You can’t play poker with the butler in the kitchen forever, Rose.”

“Watch me,” she retorted, meeting his gaze steadily, and he chuckled after a moment.

“Right then,” he said, turning away.  “What’ll it be?  Five card stud, or Texas Hold ‘Em?”

“Dealer’s choice,” she replied, watching him as he moved across the kitchen to retrieve their cards from the shelf.  She liked seeing him like this, jacket removed and thrown over a chair carelessly, thick brown hair tousled from his hands combing through it untold times, his sleeves rolled up, waistcoat accentuating his toned chest and trim waist…she swallowed hard, remembering why she’d come down here.  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”  He retrieved the cards and turned back to her, his expression curious.  “What about?”

“Um.”  She’d had this all sorted upstairs.  She’d rehearsed every line, every _word_...but somewhere between her bedroom and the kitchen, they’d all vanished.  She swallowed again, picking at her nails, and he stepped closer, his brow furrowing in concern.  “It’s just...I really...like spending time with you.”

He smiled gently at her.  “Me too.”

“Yeah?” she asked, a smile breaking free and bringing John’s smile into a wide, answering grin.

“Of course,” he replied.  “I love it.”

“Me too,” she laughed, then rolled her eyes at the redundancy of her statement.  “Already said that.  Right.”  The smile dropped from her lips after a moment, however.  She took a deep breath, stepping closer and raising her hand to finger the edge of his waistcoat.  “Thing is, John.  I... _really_ love it.”

She looked up at him, and his eyes searched hers, his expression serious.  “Rose…”

Now or never.

Rose threw caution to the wind, leaning up to press her lips to his.  He didn’t move at all for a second, then his hands came up to her arms, slender fingers circling her bicep.  Months from now, she’d still swear that for a moment, just a moment, he kissed her back...before gently pushing her away.

His eyes were dark as he looked down at her.  "I can't."

"Right," she said quickly, looking away.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry."

"'S fine," she said, swallowing against the tears burning her eyes, brought on by shame and the sting of rejection.

"Rose--"

"You know, you're right," she interrupted, smoothing down his waistcoat to buy herself time before she had to look at him.  “Can’t stay here with you forever.”  She raised her eyes, not even trying to understand the pain in his own expression.  “After all, I’ve got a party to get to.”

She turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the kitchen, refusing to look back.  She made it to the ground floor bathroom before giving in to her tears for a moment.  Then she sniffed, took a deep breath and checked her reflection in the mirror, swiping at any makeup that might have run.  She looked every inch the heiress she was when she finally made it to her party.

The next morning, she was off on a new adventure.

She didn’t say goodbye to John.

He didn’t try to say goodbye to her.

She cried the whole train ride to school.

oOoOo

"Three months," Rose's mother, Jackie Tyler, complained on the phone.  "Three months, and not even a weekend home.  And not you're going to tell me you're not even coming home for _Christmas_?"

"Mum, you're making too big a deal out of this," Rose sighed.  "We've talked about this. It's Switzerland, it's skiing, it's friends.  What it's _not_ is the great catastrophe you're turning it into.  I'll still send presents, and it's just another few months until Easter."

Jackie huffed in annoyance.  "You and John can say that all you like, but it's not going to make me any happier about my only daughter missing Christmas with her family!"

"John?" Rose asked sharply.

"Oh yeah," Jackie snorted.  "'Not to worry, Jackie.' 'Everyone leaves home sometime, Jackie.' 'She's still your daughter, Jackie.' 'It's just one holiday, Jackie.' Your bloody cheerleader, that one is. Always has been."

“Yeah, well, I don’t need the butler defending me, thanks,” she snapped.  "Look, Mum, love to keep arguing, but I've got loads of revision to do before exams, so we'll have to do this another time, yeah?"

"Alright, sweetheart," Jackie sighed.  "You know your dad and I just miss you."

"I know," Rose replied.  "Give my love to Dad."

She stared at her notebook for a long time afterwards, not really seeing it.  Truth was, she did miss her parents, and her room, and everything...but the thought of seeing John again made her cheeks burn with shame every time she pictured him.  Which she did with alarming frequency, because despite the embarrassment of their last moments together, despite him clearly having no feelings for her, she was still hopelessly in love with him.  She kept imagining the encounter having gone differently, with varying outcomes--sometimes she took the coward's way out and simply didn't say anything, but usually he just responded differently, kissing her back with no room for doubt, or only pushed her away to confess his own feelings.

But daydreaming wouldn't change what had happened.  She'd thrown herself at him, and had been rejected completely.  And she just wasn't ready to face him again, not yet.

He still sent her a Christmas gift.  It wasn't marked, but she only knew one person that would conceivably go to the trouble of painstakingly gift wrapping a simple deck of cards.  She couldn't help but smile, even as her still wounded heart throbbed.

She'd go home for Easter holiday.  Surely she'd be over it by then.

Except then by Easter there was the Caribbean cruise, and summer found her in Tibet.  She spent the following Christmas at an orphanage in Russia, and spring aiding doctors in Africa.  Her dad sent her a camera for her birthday, tired of the low quality shots from her mobile, and by the time she landed in Columbia that summer, she'd nearly worked out all the attachments.

By the third Christmas, Pete warned her that she wouldn't be able to escape Jackie's ire for another year, so she invited them to spend the holiday in Greece instead using money she'd won in a photography competition at her university.  When Jackie asked if there was something Rose wasn't telling her, some reason her daughter didn't want to go home, Rose just scoffed, saying she'd simply wanted to do something nice for her parents.

After all, it had been years since that fateful night with John.  There was no reason to keep avoiding him.  But she still changed the subject when he came up, and quietly buried the locket he'd sent with her parents at the bottom of her jewelry box.

Easter holiday she begged off of everything, claiming to need to time to revise before her last term at university, and then she was done.  As soon as her diploma was in her hand, however, she felt pressure coming at her from all sides--larking about was fine for a student, but now that she was a grown up, she needed to settle down into a life befitting her class and station.  She managed one more summer backpacking around some of the areas of Europe that she had yet to explore before she caved...in her own fashion.  Her training as hostess in her teenage years--when she wasn’t bunking off for poker games with the staff--provided a set of basic skills needed to start planning charity events.  It wasn’t long before her galas were _the_ social events to attend, where her charm and beautiful smile swindled many of the coldest misers out of far more pounds than they’d planned to help people they’d never notice.

Another two years passed.  People sometimes asked when she was going to settle down with one of her various pursuers, and she always laughed it off, asking what they thought she’d do with herself if she only had one man to take her to the theater for the rest of her life.  They were all a bit too self-absorbed anyway, and a bit too quick to say they didn’t care where her family had started out--a sure way to tell that they did, and felt that it made them a Better Man to look beyond her Hardships.  She felt it made them Twats.

But there were still nights she dreamed of a tall, lean man with wild hair and brown eyes...and on the evenings that she still felt insecure, she always dug out his locket.

oOoOo

“This’d never have happened if you took a break once in a while,” Jackie tutted beside Rose’s bed.

“Mum, I’m fine,” Rose groaned, rolling her eyes.  “Besides, I took the last two days off, that counts as a break.”

“You’re not fine,” Jackie argued.  “You collapsed at work!  The doctor said you should’ve seen him weeks ago!”

“I thought it was just a cold,” Rose shrugged, albeit a little guiltily.

“A cold,” Jackie scoffed.  “You’ve had mononucleosis for weeks, and you thought it was a cold.  Well, there’s only one thing for it.  You’re coming home with me, and your dad agrees, so I want no argument from you.”

“No, Mum, I’m fine,” Rose persisted, shaking her head.  “I’m sure if I just take the weekend--”

“Absolutely not,” Jackie stated firmly.  “The doctor says you’re not to even _think_ about returning to work for at least four weeks, and that’s only with his approval.  You’re coming home where I can look after you and you can get some bleeding rest for once.”

“I rest,” she muttered stubbornly, and her mother clucked a tongue at her.

“You haven’t had a rest in five years,” Jackie retorted.  “I’m calling Wilson now to get your room ready, and then I’m calling a car.”

“Who’s Wilson?” Rose asked in confusion.

“The butler,” Jackie said without looking up from her phone.

Rose stared at her.  “No, he’s not.  John’s the butler.”

“Oh, no, hasn’t been for months,” Jackie said dismissively, bringing the phone up to her ear.  “I told you about that.”

“No, you thought about it,” Rose snapped impatiently.  “Mum, put the phone down!  Since when have you got a new butler?”

“Wilson, hi, hold on,” Jackie said into the phone, making an irritated noise as she pulled it away from her head.  “Few months back, John dreamed up some new computer part, triples some whosit capability, I don’t know.”

“Sounds about right,” Rose said thoughtfully.  He’d been the one to fix her brand new iphone when she’d dropped it out her window when she was seventeen, claiming it was just a bit of jiggery pokery.

“Anyway, next thing you know, he’s got investors coming out his ears,” Jackie explained with a shrug.  “Didn’t need to be our butler anymore, did he?”

“So he just...quit?” Rose asked, confused...and a little hurt.  She hadn’t been home in a while, but surely he would have told her if she’d never see him again.

Right?

“Nah, your dad told him he’d be better off doing that than working for us the rest of his life,” Jackie said as Rose looked away and raised a hand to nibble on a nail.  “Always destined for better things, that one.  Your dad said so, from the day he hired him.”

“Right.”

“So then we hired Wilson,” Jackie continued.  “You’ll like him...though not as much as you liked, John, I’ll wager.”  Rose looked up sharply, but her mother was turning to away, raising the phone to her ear again.  “Wilson, listen, I need you to get my daughter’s room ready.  Yeah, he’ll tell you which one.  We’ll be there in about three hours.”

Rose realized that she’d just lost her argument against going home by sheer willpower on the part of her mother.  But if she were honest with herself, she was feeling worse than she had even admitted--she felt like she hadn’t slept in years, and although her throat was finally feeling better, she just had a general feeling of malaise that she couldn’t shake.  A little pampering at her parents mansion wouldn’t hurt.

Plus, she wouldn’t have to face John.

Ever again.

She reached up, clutching at the locket she’d been wearing since she got home from the hospital as her mother packed her suitcase.

oOoOo

As long and as hard as she’d fought it, Rose couldn’t help the warm feeling that welled up in her when she saw the Tyler mansion creep into view.  It hadn’t even been home for that many years, but they were big years, and seemed as overstuffed as a favorite armchair with pleasant memories.  By the time the car made it up the drive and the chauffeur opened her door, Rose felt nearly human again, taking a breath of clean, non-city air as she pulled off her sunglasses and looked over the familiar facade.

“There’s my girl,” a voice said, and Rose lowered her eyes to see her father coming down the steps, arms outstretched.  She smiled and stepped toward him, returning the embrace tightly when he pulled her into his arms.  “Good to have you home, darling.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said softly as he pulled away.

He put a hand on her cheek, eyes roaming over her face, and his brow creased a little in concern.  Apparently all the expensive makeup in the world wouldn’t hide anything from her dad--a blessing and a curse.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Jackie said as she rounded the car, giving her husband a quick peck before looping her arm through Rose’s and bustling her daughter inside, passing an older man she could only assume was the as-yet-unmet Wilson on his way to gather her bags.

“Jackie, did you tell her?” Pete asked, following them inside with one of Rose’s suitcases--as usual, her mother had gone completely overboard, and attempted to pack Rose’s entire flat into her luggage set.

“Plenty of time for that,” Jackie replied breezily, and warning signals went off in Rose’s head.

“Tell me what?” she asked.

“It’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart--”

Rose stopped cold in the foyer, pulling her mother around to look at her.  “Tell me what, Mum?  What’d you do?”

“It’s nothing, darling, really,” Jackie said soothingly, but a glance at her father’s raised eyebrow was less reassuring.  “It’s just that we’ve...sort of got a guest.”

“A guest?” Rose asked, perplexed.  “Who?”

A movement in the corner of her eye pulled Rose’s attention to the stairs, and she froze.

_John_.

He slowed in his descent when he saw her head turn, watching her warily.  He looked every inch as devastatingly handsome as he had five years ago...more so, even.  He was still just as slim and lanky, but somehow managed to achieve a more filled in look that he’d been lacking then.  The suit and waistcoat were gone, replaced with a pair of dark trousers and a white button up, sleeves rolled up and top two buttons popped to reveal a tantalizing amount of throat.

Rose swallowed, her head swimming in a way that made her wonder if she was going to pass out again.

_Oh, sod this_ , she thought fiercely.  She was Rose bloody Tyler, successful socialite, and definitely not nineteen anymore.  She squared her shoulders, letting go of Jackie to face John more fully as he stepped onto the floor.

“Hello, John,” she said, managing a warm smile.

“Hello, Rose,” he answered softly, and she cursed the butterflies that his voice seemed to spawn in her stomach.  “It’s good to see you again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's more than two parts, because I suck at keeping things short. I apologize profusely.

John paced through the halls of the Tyler mansion restlessly, losing count of how many times he ran his hands through his hair.  After five years and an untold number of hours wasted rehashing his last moments with Rose, he was expected to sort out his emotions and find a way to cope with her coming home on three bloody hours notice.  Or, at least, had been expected to...three hours ago.

He heard the car pull up outside, and realized he was out of time, regardless of the fact that he was also still out of sorts.  He made his way quickly toward the stairs, but paused when he caught view of the drive, and the chauffeur helping the young blonde out of the car.  She took off her sunglasses, looking up at the house fondly, and John forgot how to breathe.

_Rose_.

He’d seen her image, at least, since she left, but photographs never could do her justice.  She’d lost the lingering adolescent roundness that she’d so hated as a teenager, giving a more pronounced look to her cheekbones and jawline.  In anyone else, it would have made for a harsher look, but it only made her natural gorgeousness more striking.  And despite the stress even he could see from her illness, there was a straightness of her shoulders and carry of her head that told of an unconscious self-confidence that would draw people to her like magnets...or moths to a flame.

He watched her embrace her father, then tore his eyes away when the family started moving toward the door, hurrying down the hall to the steps.  This was fine.  Completely fine.  She’d grown up, they’d grown apart, honestly, the mansion was so large they could probably completely avoid seeing each other for days if they wanted to.

Did he want to?

He paused on the steps as Rose turned to him, and if he’d thought he had trouble breathing from the window, he’d been seriously underestimating her power of stopping his autonomic functions.  Something flickered in her eyes--several somethings, matter of fact.  Surprise and apprehension chased each other across her features, and he searched for something else, something he knew he’d given up his right to hope for years ago.  If it was there, though, it was shunted aside quickly by a warm, utterly beautiful, and completely fake smile as he reached the bottom of the steps.

“Hello, John.”  Her voice was a little lower maybe, but no less enchanting than it had been when she’d spent hours talking to him in the kitchen and avoiding whatever party was happening upstairs.  He itched to find out if her laugh was still as lovely as the last time he’d heard it.

“Hello, Rose,” he managed, keeping his voice soft to avoid letting on how tight his throat suddenly felt.  “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” she replied.  They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Rose looked away, glancing at the stairs behind him.  “So...um...how long are you staying for?”

Right...guest.  That’s what Jackie’d called him.  Oh, lord.  Still-- “Four weeks.”

“Course you are,” she said, her lips twisting in a bitter smile that alarmed him.  “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s fine.”  Her public mask was firmly back in place when her eyes finally returned to his.  “Completely...fine.  Listen, I’m knackered,” she added, turning to her mother.  “Think I’m just gonna go lay down for a bit before dinner.  I’ll worry about unpacking later.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Jackie said, and John stepped out of the way quickly as the elder Tyler woman took her daughter’s arm to guide her toward the stairs.  “Your room’s all set up, and we’ll have someone bring up your bags later.”

John watched them ascend the stairs without a look back, slowly coming to terms with several apparent facts: one, Rose Tyler was home.  Two, she had no idea he was still here.  Three, she really, _really_ didn’t want him to be.  Four, he was still just as completely in love with her as he had been five years ago, which presented a number of problems, the largest of which he was trying very hard not to think about.

oOoOo

John tugged at his bowtie uncomfortably, longing for the days where he’d only worked behind the scenes at parties like this.  Life was much easier when he was invisible.  Especially when Rose had still been home, even before he’d been sideswiped by a lorry full of unexpected feelings for her.

Best not think about that, though.

She’d been home for four days, and had done an amazing job of avoiding him.  She’d been taking dinner in her room, rather than at the table with the family--she’d really spent an astonishing amount of time there.  Which made sense, since she was home to rest and recover, except the handful of times he’d tried to find her there to try to talk to her, she’d been somewhere else.  Apart from her arrival, he saw her as much as he had the past five years.

Except that now, he knew she was there.  There was no room to fool himself into thinking she was avoiding anything but him anymore.

Which was fine.  Really.  There was clearly nothing more for them to say to each other.

Although it would probably a _bit_ easier if he wasn’t still living with her parents, or considered anyone else beside them family.

He let out a sigh, running his hands through his hair irritably as he scanned the room for the nearest tray of champagne.  Instead, his eyes landed on the very person he was trying to avoid thinking about as she entered the room.

Rose was wearing a red floor length number, with a beaded bodice leading up to bare shoulders.  Her hair was down in loose curls, and bright red lipstick framed her flawless smile.  If she was still a little pale, a little thin, or the skin under her eyes was a little too dark, no one would notice.  He was suddenly propelled backwards in time to one of her first parties, not long after he’d started working for the Tylers, and she’d first snuck down to the kitchen to avoid it.

_“I just don’t understand how they all look like they’ve just stepped out of a bleeding magazine, and I look like I got dressed in my mum’s clothes.  In the dark.”_

_“Money, confidence, and experience.  And you do not look like you dressed in your mum’s clothes.”_

_“No?”_

_“Your mum has terrible taste, Rose.  But I swear I’ll make sure the cook makes you nothing but collard greens for a week if you tell her I said that.  You, however...pretty as a painting.”_

A young man came up to Rose, his arm sliding around her waist possessively as he leaned in to say something close to her ear.  She laughed, and John’s eyes narrowed, disliking the boy on sight.  A waiter passed, thankfully carrying drinks as he blocked the couple from John’s view.  He snagged a champagne flute and turned away from the door, glancing around the room at large as he took a long drink.  Pete used to joke about how Jackie had taken to society life like a duck to water, and the way she worked the room was evidence.  He was the opposite, however--he felt twitchy rubbing elbows with the rich and famous without asking for their coats, even though they weren’t even at the Tylers’.  This was probably, in no small part, due to the fact that he was aware that a number of them would like nothing more than to have him once more beneath their feet if it weren’t for the fact that he was making them a lot of money.

“Stop fidgeting,” a voice said near his shoulder as his hand reached for his bowtie once more, and he looked down to see Rose smirking at him.  “They can smell fear.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he murmured, glancing around again before making a face.  “I miss the kitchen.”

“You just miss having first crack at the nibbles,” Rose said with a wink, and he gave her a lopsided smile, relaxing slightly.  This was the most she’d talked to him since coming home, and seemed far more at ease.  Something was still...off...but after five seconds of him completely making a mess of things followed by five years apart, what could he expect?

“You look beautiful,” he remarked, glancing her over again.

“Pretty as a painting?” she asked mildly.

There was the slightest flicker in her expression, and John suddenly realized why the interaction felt so off.  This wasn’t Rose.  This was the heiress, the socialite, the woman who could get along with anyone if it was necessary.  And he hated it.

“Rose--”

“John, darling, there you are!” another voice called suddenly, and he looked up to find Reinette bearing down on him with the inevitability of a tsunami.  She put a hand on his cheek when she reached him and leaned up to kiss him quickly.  When she broke away, she slid an arm around his waist and turned to Rose, who suddenly looked stiff and even paler.  “Introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh, ehm.”  John coughed awkwardly.  “Reinette, this is Rose.  Rose Tyler.”

“Oh, right,” Reinette said, smiling at Rose.  “The prodigal daughter.  I think I was at one of your charity events last year.  It was...nice.  Very sweet.”

“Oh, you know, I think I remember you,” Rose replied, the fake smile firmly back in place.  “Weren’t you there with the French ambassador?  How’s his wife?”

John watched in fascination as Reinette’s face hardened for a moment before she turned back to him, once again composed.  “Sweetheart, I do think you’ve failed in the part where you introduce me.”

“Of course,” he said quickly.  “Rose, this is Reinette, my fiancée.”

The word still felt strange in his mouth, but that fact was forgotten when Rose’s startled eyes flashed to his.  Her mouth opened and closed without words forming for a moment before she regained her self-control, swallowing visibly.

“Congratulations,” she said finally, voice steady.

John stared at her, stunned.  “Your mother didn’t--”

“Nope, didn’t mention that,” she said quickly, shaking her head.  “But then, still thought you were the butler until four days ago.  Times certainly do change.”  She eyed Reinette again, then gave them a stiff smile.  “I wish you all the best.”

She turned on her heel and walked away.  John itched to pull her back, to talk to her, to try to fix...something...but Reinette was still nestled in his side, and she was quickly snatched up into another conversation, joined by the boy he’d seen talking to her a few minutes earlier.

Reinette clicked her tongue.  “I swear, the way you talk about her, I expected some sort of angel to grace our presence.”

“Don’t,” John said quietly, still watching Rose.

“Is there something I should be worried about, John?” Reinette asked.  “Did something happen between you two?”

“No,” he said honestly.  “Nothing at all.”

oOoOo

It was another hour before he met up with Rose again, thankfully without Reinette.  His fiancée was lovely, but he wasn’t at all ready to watch them circle each other like lionesses again.  Less happily, however, Rose was still in the presence of her attending pretty boy, and seemed far more interested in him than before.

“Sorry, I don’t think you’ve met,” she said, putting her hand on the boy’s chest as he put an arm around her.  “Adam, this is John Smith.  He used to be our butler before he apparently struck oil.”

“Well, silicon,” John said mildly, and she looked at him blankly.  “It’s the stuff computer parts are made of.  Nevermind.”

“Whatever,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.  “John, this is Adam Mitchell, a friend from London who came down to check on me.”

“Bit more than a friend,” Adam responded with what John was certain was his attempt at flirty bedroom eyes, but only managed to make him look slightly ill.  John rolled his eyes, but composed himself quickly when Adam turned to him and held out a hand.  “Nice to meet you, John.  Bet it’s nice to get out of the kitchen.”

“Actually, I rather miss it,” John replied, shaking his hand.  “The card games were better.”  He kept his eyes on Adam, but saw Rose look up at him sharply in the periphery.  “And what do you do, Adam, m’boy?”

To his credit, Adam's expression didn't even falter.  "I work for Henry Van Statten."

"Van Statten," John repeated slowly, trying to recall the name.  "Oh, right, the rich nutter who thinks he invented the internet."

"He's not a nutter," Adam responded coolly.  "He's a genius, who handpicks his staff--"

"Of nutters," John finished.  "Best of luck with that."  He cut his eyes to Rose, frowning and shaking her head at him, but merely smiled in return as another song started.  “Miss Tyler, may I have this dance?  I’m sure your young companion is capable of looking after himself for a few minutes, at least.”

She glanced at Adam, then gave John a stiff smile.  “I’d love to.”

John took her offered hand and led her to the dance floor, ignoring the daggers Adam’s stare was shooting at him.  He chose instead to focus on how well Rose seemed to fit when he slipped his arm around her, and trying not to remember the number of times he’d danced with her before in the kitchen when she’d been practicing for parties like this.

“That was rude,” she muttered as he began guiding her over the floor.

“ _Me_?” he asked.  “What about you and your little boy toy from London town?  ‘Oh, he used to be our butler’--”

“You _did_ used to be our butler.”

“‘Oh, ho, must be nice to get out of the kitchen!’” John snapped with an affected voice.

“He didn’t sound like that,” Rose said.  “And really, bit rich coming from you don’t you think?  Did Reinette Poisson even know your name six months ago?”

“I’ll have you know that the press is very enthusiastic about our whirlwind romance,” he informed her, arching an eyebrow.

“Riiight,” she said, drawing out the word and grinning at him.  “So when is the wedding, then?”

“Three and a half weeks.”

“Course it is,” she snorted.  “So then why’re you still living with my parents?  Don’t you want to shack up with your new ‘lady love’?”

He rolled his eyes at the dramatic pitch of her voice.  “No, ta.  Reinette and I already decided we weren’t going to live together until after we’re married.”

“But you have slept with her, right?”

“Explain to me how that’s any of your business,” he retorted.

“John, you’ve got to know she doesn’t care about you,” Rose said, suddenly serious.

“ _She_ pursued _me_ ,” John replied.  “She’s the one who wanted to go out on dates, she--”

“She wanted to get married?” Rose guessed, and John coughed uncomfortably.  Obviously he’d still done the actual _proposing_ , but she’d basically informed him exactly how and when it was to happen.  “That doesn’t mean she cares.”

“Then what, pray tell, does it mean?” he hissed.

“It means that she saw your potential,” Rose answered evenly.  “Pretty soon, everyone’s gonna know your name, all cause of a little silicon chip that’ll revolutionize the computer industry and everything effected by it, and send profits through the roof and work like a steroid injection on your bank account.  Every eligible woman is going to know that John Smith is young, brilliant, rich, and easy on the eyes, and Reinette is going to be a goddess among them for snatching up such a hot commodity before it was even on the market.  You’re a trophy.  Don’t ever think otherwise.”

“For someone who’s just met her,” James observed irritably, “you seem to find it awfully easy to cast judgement.”

“I’ve known of her for years,” Rose replied.  “And people like her.”

“Oh, anymore it must be like looking in the mirror,” he snapped, spinning her with the music before catching her waist again.  “You know for someone who wasn’t into this scene, you’ve become _quite_ the little socialite.  Charity galas, theater tickets, different man on your arm every night.  Apparently including young Adam over there, what is he, twelve?”

“Twenty-five,” she said.  “And besides, it’s like you said, I couldn’t stay in the kitchen playing poker with the butler forever.  Although it’d have been nice to know that it was only cause the butler was done playing.”

John stopped moving, a muscle twitching in his jaw.  “You know, Miss Tyler, perhaps you had the right idea before.  Clearly interacting with each other is no longer our strong suit.”

“Clearly,” she agreed archly, snatching her hand from his and stepping out of his embrace.  “We were better off avoiding each other.”

“Suppose we were.”

Rose eyed him angrily for a moment, then let out an irritated huff before whirling around and marching off toward the waiting Adam.  John watched her go, burying one hand in his pocket and balling the other into a fist at his side.

That...could have gone better.

oOoOo

“John, darling, what is the matter?” Reinette asked later as the party wound down and people started drifting toward the door.  “You’ve been tense all evening.”

“Nothing,” he told her, his hands moving to her waist as she she grasped his lapels.  “It’s fine.  Just...tired.”

“Well, you know,” she said with a soft smile, “you could always come home with me.  Whirlpool tub, bed that's soft as a cloud, satin sheets that I promise will feel amazing against your bare skin."

"You make a very tempting offer, Miss Poisson," he murmured as she leaned up to kiss his neck.  And really, why not? They were engaged, after all... Everyone probably already assumed they were sleeping together, including the press he was so twitchy about being spotted by.  Rose certainly had.  There was really no reason, in this day and age, why he should be so hesitant to spend the night with his own fiancée.

_You’ve got to know she doesn’t care about you. You’re a trophy.  Don’t ever think otherwise._

Reinette looked up when he stiffened, her expression questioning and a little irritated.  "John, what is it?"

Before he could even attempt to formulate a response, Pete called his name.  He turned away from Reinette, lifting his hands from her waist to pull hers from his lapel.

"Have you seen Rose?" the older man demanded as he stepped closer.

"What?" John cast his eyes around the room, as if that would make her suddenly appear.  "No, not for hours. Why?"

"Because no one else has either," Pete answered grimly.

"What about the puppy?"

"Said she seemed to take a strange turn an hour ago and went to the loo," Pete replied with a shrug.  "He hasn't seen her since."

"And he didn't bother to _check_ on her?" John growled, releasing Reinette's hands and turning to face Pete completely.  "Never entered his mind that maybe, just maybe, her leaving London due to illness might mean that she shouldn't be left alone for long stretches of time?"

"Apparently not," Pete grumbled, evidently equally annoyed.

"Right, you check the rooms down here, I'll take the ones upstairs," he ordered, already moving toward the steps.

"John," Reinette called after him.  "John, I'm going home.  Now."

"Bye," he called back, not turning around as he took the steps two at a time.  "I'll call you tomorrow."

He searched the rooms quickly, his concern growing the longer it took to find her.  What had Adam been thinking?  She was a big girl, John had no doubt she could take care of herself, she had for years, but she had also been ill.  Jackie had been frantic when she'd gotten the call from the hospital--they all had been, if he were honest.

He finally found her asleep on chaise in a darkened sitting room at the end of the hall.  He hurried over, crouching at her side and pushing the hair out of her face gently.  She stirred after a second, and he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when she blinked up at him.

"John?"

"Hi," he said softly.  "You alright?"

"Tired," she said weakly, and he cursed to himself.  Chronic fatigue was something Jackie had mentioned; Rose probably shouldn't have been at the party at all, but at least should have left hours ago.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured.  "Come on, let's get you home."

She let out a muffled sound as he helped her to her feet.  She seemed to rouse herself more one upright, but she stumbled with the first step.  John slipped an arm around her waist hastily, lending some support as he walked her out of the room and down the hall to the steps.

She tried to push him away when they reached the steps, murmuring something about being fine.

"You're really not," he said unhappily as she moved toward the railing.

"'M not gonna walk out of here leaning on... Someone else," she muttered.  John huffed, but didn't say anything else... The last thing she needed right now was another argument.  He did stay close, however, placing his hand lightly on the small of her back and ready to catch her if she stumbled again.

Pete and Jackie were talking quickly as they descended, but they both looked relieved when they caught sight of John and Rose.  They hurried over as John reached the base of the stairs.

"I'm taking her home," he said before Jackie or Pete could utter a word.

"I can do that," Adam put on quickly, and John looked past Pete to see the boy hovering in the background.

"Can you?" John snapped, giving him a dark look.  "Sure you won't get sidetracked by a sale on frappacinos?"

"There's no Starbucks between here and her place," Adam said, and John let out an angry growl.

"I think you've done enough, _son_ ," he snarled.

"Look, if you two want to just whip out the rulers, fine by me," Rose said.  "I can see myself home, thanks."

She made to move past her parents to the door, but lost her footing again.  Her hand made a wild grab and found John's, even as he put a strong arm around her waist once more.  As soon as she was steady, he leaned in close to her ear.

“Please come home with me,” he murmured, and he felt a shiver run through her before she raised her head and nodded almost imperceptibly.  He let out a sigh of relief and glanced up at Pete, who gave him another nod before stepping aside to let them pass.

John took Rose’s clutch from Jackie, and guided Rose outside and into the waiting car.  She let out an irritated huff as they drove away from the house, and John arched an eyebrow at her in question.

“Just so you know, I really can handle myself usually,” she muttered, glancing at him briefly and looking out the window again.  “I really don’t need the butler to take me home.”

“Well, then, good thing I’m not the butler anymore,” he replied evenly, and a small smile tugged at her lips when she looked back at him.  She rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair wearily, making a face when it didn’t move as smoothly through the curls at is it did with her natural waves.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Don’t be,” he said quickly, facing forward again.

“No, but I am,” she insisted.  “About the butler comments, and about Adam.  He’s…”

“A prat?” John suggested.

“Yeah, that works,” she laughed, and it sounded genuine and tugged at John’s heart.

“I’m sorry too,” he said quietly, turning to look at her again.  “For...oh...all sorts of things.”  He paused, then reached a hand across to brush her fringe out of her eyes.  “I missed you, Rose.”

Her breath caught, but she smiled a second later.  “Well, phone works two ways you know.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, not able to say more.  Because he had gone to see her once, after she’d been gone a year.  He’d wanted to tell her what a mess he’d made, and how sorry he was for it, for apparently driving her from her home in a fit of misplaced gallantry...but then he’d seen her with a group of friends, smiling and laughing, and he realized that he had been right in the first place.  She’d moved on, like she should, and there was no place in her life for lovesick household staff.  He’d left again before she saw him, determined to let her go.

Clearly he’d made a complete mess of that as well.

“Still,” she said after a moment, pulling him from his painful memories, “suppose Reinette might not appreciate that much a month from now.”

John gave a little hum--not quite assent, but not quite an argument either.  “Yeah.  Well...she’s not here right now,” he pointed out, then slid an arm along the seat behind her.  “Come here.  Just to rest,” he added when she hesitated.  “I’ll wake you when we get home.”

She relented, scooting closer and laying her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her.  It was similar to how they used to cuddle up on the sofa and watch films at night after the rest of the house went to bed, and the position they’d been in when it had suddenly struck him that his affection for her might not be quite the big brother fondness that he’d thought when she was eighteen.

“John?” she whispered, sounding near asleep already, and he bowed his head a little to hear her.

“Hmm?”

“I missed you too.”

He raised his head, pressing a kiss to her hair before laying his cheek against the top of her head, part of him wishing the car ride home never had to end.


	3. Chapter 3

Rose ordered Adam back to London the day after the party at the Reynolds.  She promised it had nothing to do with John or Adam's apparent lack of concern for her welfare, just that she had decided to take the prescription for rest seriously.  He still seemed doubtful; in truth, Rose wasn't entirely sure of her own words, but stayed firm, telling him to get back to his job and friends and that she'd call him when she was back in town and feeling better.

John made an absurdly insincere attempt at sympathy when she shared this news with the family.

"Probably for the best," he claimed.  "After all, I'm sure his classmates at secondary were missing him."

Rose rolled her eyes at his unapologetic grin while her father choked on his soup.

Despite this, she and John reached a tenuous sort of truce.  She stopped actively avoiding him, because it actually seemed to take more energy than she had, and although things weren't easy between them like they'd been years ago, they at least managed to be civil most of the time.  After half a decade apart, she reasoned that this was probably the best she could hope for.  And she was fine with that... So long as she could keep herself from thinking about how concerned and protective he'd been at the party, or how good his arm had felt around her in the car afterwards.

oOoOo

"There's something I don't understand," John said one morning, not looking up from the computer part he was fiddling with.

Rose licked a finger and turned the page in her magazine.  "American politics?"

"Adorable," he replied.  "Actually, I have an amazing grasp of politics across the pond, thanks."

"West Wing reruns don't count as resource material," she said.

"I dare you to say that to Richard Schiff.  But exceedingly accurate scripted television aside, I was talking about your photography."

They were sitting in the sunroom, a week after the Reynolds’ affair (three weeks until the wedding, as her tortured mind delighted in reminding her).  He’d been curiously homebound the last few days, working on things that she had no hope of understanding no matter how much he prattled on about it, but he was surprisingly decent company.  As for Rose, she had decided to give in to the whole idea of relaxation, refusing to get out of her dressing gown as she reclined on the sofa with a rag full of enough makeup tips and diet tips and fashion tips and sex tips to make all but the most self-assured feel like a gawky 12-year-old.  Rose mostly just looked at the photos.

"What about it?" she asked, looking up in confusion.

"Why'd you stop?"  He paused in his own distraction, tilting his head a little as he studied her.  "The whole 'Have Canon, will travel' bit?". She shrugged, and he clicked his tongue as he returned his attention to the part in his hands.  "It's just that you seemed to enjoy it.  And what's more, you were good at it."

"You saw my photographs?" she asked, stunned.

"Of course," he said, looking up at her blankly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She could feel heat rising to her cheeks and ducked her head.  She made a show of turning another page her magazine, shrugging again.  "Figured it was time to grow up, do something worthwhile and adult."

He frowned at the air quotes she made around the words.  "Who said what you were doing wasn't worthwhile?"

"Everyone?" she suggested.

He snorted with a shake of his head.  "You, Miss Tyler, worry entirely too much about what other people think of you."

"Oh please," she scoffed.  "You're the one who decided to marry the first woman who paid you any mind once you got a spot of cash."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" he asked.  She only arched an eyebrow and returned to her magazine.  "You really don't like her, do you?"

_Of course I don't like her,_ Rose thought.  _She's a social climbing, manipulative hag who's marrying the man I've been in love with since I was fifteen._

"That obvious?" she asked aloud.  "How'd that happen anyway?  Doesn't seem like your type."

"Beautiful, blonde, rich, confident... I'm pretty sure she's everyone's type," he remarked, and Rose snorted.  "Her father was one of my first investors, and she was very... charming."

"Right," Rose said, inserting as many i's as possible.  "Charming.  She was nice, she smiled, you fell for it."

"Better, I suppose, to go out with a different woman every night?" he retorted.  "Go for a bit of variety?"

"Nothing wrong with exploring one's options," she replied primly.

"Who said I ever wanted options?" he sniffed.  He glanced down at the computer part, but raised his eyes to Rose when he realized what neither of them could say: he hadn’t taken his first option.  “Listen, Rose--”

“Mister Smith,” Wilson said, cutting him off as he drifted into the room.  “Miss Poisson here to see you, sir.”

“Right,” John said as he and Rose both looked away.  “Thank you, Wilson.  I’ll be with her in a moment.”

“Very good, sir,” Wilson said with a little bow before departing.

John let out a little laugh, looking back at Rose sheepishly.  “Not quite used to that yet.”

“Better work on it,” she said cheerfully, ignoring the pain from her scarred heart.  “Marrying into one of the richest families in Britain, you are.  Standards to uphold.”

“Suppose,” he said.  “Rose--”

“Best not keep your lady love waiting,” she said quickly, cutting off whatever he was going to say as she stood.  “Talk to you later.”

She left the room quickly, ignoring the pained look that John had no right to.  He’d been the one to reject her, after all; to pass over his first option.  And that was fine, years ago, water under the bridge.  She was completely over it.

She chose to use the back stairs and avoid the foyer, although she still heard Reinette arguing with Wilson:

“Really, Wilson, there’s no need to keep me here--”

“I’m afraid Mister Smith was in discussion with Miss Tyler,” Wilson said blandly.  “It wouldn’t do to let a guest interrupt.”

“I’m his _fiancée_!”

“Yes, miss,” Wilson replied.  “So you keep reminding us.”

Apparently the staff weren’t huge Reinette fans either.  Rose was glad that John wasn’t around to hear that...or to see her grin.

oOoOo

“Miss Tyler, would you care to join me for a turn around the garden?”

Rose stared at John’s proffered hand as he stood before her with all the grace and air of Mr Darcy, and promptly burst out laughing.  He arched an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” she realized, trying to stifle her laughter.

“Of course,” he said, sounding mildly offended.  “A walk in the sun could do you some good.  Unless you’re actually going for the Queen of the Damned look.”

She studied him a moment, trying to find his motivation, and failing completely.  “Yeah, alright then.”

She took his hand as she stood, glancing up at him when he didn’t relinquish it immediately as he led her out to the garden.

Jackie was proud of the garden, even if most of her heavy lifting came in the form of lifting the phone to hire gardeners.  She did plan the layout, though, and the various topiaries and decorations.  Her only lament was that Rose hadn’t been younger when they’d moved to the mansion; she’d wanted to make Rose a playground of her own.  She’d brought it up again during their Christmas in Greece, of all things.

_“Well, suppose it’ll be up to you to do that for your children now, sweetheart.”_

_“Oh, Mum, don’t start.  This is just another way of asking me if I’ve met someone.”_

_“It is not!  But if you had, that’d help.  I bet John would be great with little ones.”_

_“What’s John got to do with anything?”_

_“Just something to keep in mind.”_

Well, John wasn’t the butler anymore, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

She’d barely even seen John in the past week.  Reinette had been keeping him busy with wedding plans when he wasn’t sequestering himself in a lab somewhere with more genius plans that would no doubt make him very rich and keep his new wife incredibly happy.  Rose had found herself missing his presence within the first day before berating herself.  He wasn’t the butler, he wasn’t even really a friend...just someone who was staying in her house who she...happened to have a history with.  A history that was barely even a blip on the radar, and didn’t matter anyway, because he was marrying someone else.

But as true as all that might be, she couldn’t help the way the warmth of his hand, curled around hers, seemed to radiate through her.  The sun helped too, and Rose paused to raise her face to it and soak in its rays.  For a moment, she felt more cheerful and healthy than she had in weeks...maybe a lot longer.

“There she is,” she heard John murmur, and she lowered her face, opening her eyes and grinning at him.  “I’ve missed that Rose.”

She looked away across the garden, considering his words.  “Me too.”

She hadn’t really meant to say that, wasn’t even entirely sure what had made her, but he only smiled and tugged at her hand, leading her down the path.  It wasn’t the first time she’d admitted something to him that she couldn’t even bring herself to acknowledge, but that had been a long time ago.  She wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he was still capable of drawing that out in her.

“So...no Reinette today,” she remarked, trying to marshal her wayward thoughts.

“Nope,” he agreed.  “Dress fitting.  No boys allowed.”

“More’s the pity,” she said, and he shrugged noncommittally.  “Still...week and a half, and you’ll be able to see it her in all her glory.”

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding his head and letting out a slow breath.

“Excited?” she probed, trying to muster some positivity on his behalf.

“Ehm.”  He lifted his freed hand, ruffling it through his hair.  “Not sure that’s the first word that springs to mind.”

She frowned at him.  “What is?”

“Anxious?” he suggested.  “Terrified?  Ah...uneasy...apprehensive...tense...agitated...nervous…petrified--”

“Yeah, alright, I get it,” she laughed, holding up a hand to stop him.  “So not great?”

“Not particularly.”

“I’m sure it’s just jitters,” she said, stepping closer to rub his arm soothingly.  “Day of, when you see her walking down that aisle toward you, all of that’ll just...fall away.”

“You sure?” he asked, looking down at her earnestly.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied breezily, putting some distance between them again, despite the firm clasp he still had on her hand.  “I mean, you love her right?”

“Uh...yeah,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows as his gaze drifted over the landscape.  “I mean, yes, of course.  I did when I proposed, didn’t I?”  He muttered something else too low for her to hear, and she frowned as he looked back at her.  He shrugged, his eyes roaming again.  “I mean, I’m sure it’s normal for people in love to go through...periods of...slightly diluted happiness with each other, right?”

Rose let out a laugh.  “Have you met my parents?”

“Ah, well, that’s different,” he said, smiling a little as they both pictured the way Pete still growled and pulled Jackie under the mistletoe every Christmas, and her laughing shriek before he kissed her soundly, as if they were still teenagers.  “The Tylers are a different breed.  Gods among men.”

“That’s true,” she agreed with a nod, laughing and looking down at her shoe as she scuffed at the cobblestone.  “One of us falls in love, it’s forever.”

“Is it?”

Her eyes snapped to his, and she shivered when she caught his dark, earnest gaze.  He took a step closer, closing most of the gap between them, and her breath caught before she tugged her hand from his and stepped back hurriedly.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said quickly, clearing her throat awkwardly when she heard the slight tremor in her voice.  She wasn’t going to be some last hurrah for a nervous groom.  Not with anyone, and definitely not with him.  “Just...chilly feet, yeah?”

“Rose--”

A quick two step gave her enough distance to avoid his reach for her.  “I think I’ve had enough sun for today.”

She turned quickly, barely keeping herself from sprinting back to the house.

oOoOo

John tossed restlessly in his bed, flipping over on his back and staring up at the ceiling as he tucked his hands behind his head.

_“Just one more week, darling...then it’s Mr and Mrs John Smith, off to the Caribbean to celebrate wedded bliss for a month while Daddy gets the house done.”_

He’d barely managed to nod before Reinette had kissed him goodnight, apparently choosing to pretend their earlier argument had never happened.

_“Honestly, I don’t know why you need to play nursemaid to her anyway.  She’s an adult, and needs to stop acting like you’re her servant--”_

_“She doesn’t.”_

_“Well, then, maybe you should stop pretending to be.  Honestly, John, I don’t know what’s gotten into you since that girl came back--”_

_“Her name is Rose, and she’s not a girl, and she never treated me like a servant.  And we’re not talking about her anymore.”_

_“Fine.  I just don’t understand why it’s so important for you to spend so much time with her when we have a wedding to prepare for.”_

John sighed heavily, running a hand over his face.  Arguments had been happening more and more frequently with Reinette, and he wasn’t so much in denial that he could pretend that Rose’s return wasn’t part of that.

He’d been happy when he proposed.  At least, he thought he had been.  He cared for her, and wanted her to be happy, and figured that was love of a sort.  Then Rose had come back, and the dam he’d built inside his mind had burst, and he remembered what it was to actually love someone with every breath.

Problem was, now he was engaged...and Rose obviously didn’t feel the way she had when she’d first kissed him all those years ago.  Which wasn’t surprising...she’d been nineteen; for her, it was practically a lifetime ago.  It felt nearly that long for John.

_“One of us falls in love, it’s forever.”_

_“Is it?”_

John growled, giving up on his quest for sleep as he rolled out of bed.  He stepped into his slippers and reached for his dressing gown, shrugging into it as he crept down the quiet hall toward the back stairs.  His eyes narrowed in curiosity when he saw the kitchen light on; even the staff should have been in bed long before now.

He nearly turned back when he saw Rose sitting at the counter with a cup of tea, likewise in her dressing gown and her hair in a messy ponytail.  Then she looked up and gave him a small smile, and he gave up, giving in to the magnetic pull she always seemed to have.

“You’re up late,” he commented quietly.

She hummed in agreement.  “Couldn’t sleep.  You either?”  He shook his head, and she nodded hers toward the stove.  “Kettle’s still hot.”

“Brilliant.”

He made his own cup of tea, mindful of her eyes on him, studying him with narrowed eyes.  He sat down beside her at the counter, stirring his tea and taking a long drink before considering her.

“So what’s got you restless this evening, Miss Tyler?”

“Overdose of rest and relaxation,” she said, rolling her eyes and waving her hand dismissively.  She glanced around the kitchen, then looked back at him with a small, mischievous smile.  “Are our cards still down here?”

“Hmmm...I dunno,” he said, putting down his mug and standing to make his way across the kitchen.  He reached up to one of the higher shelves where he’d always stashed them, smiling to himself when his fingers closed around the familiar, worn box.  “You’re in luck,” he said, holding them up as he turned to her.  “What’ll it be, Miss Tyler?”

“Dealer’s choice,” she said with a grin, like she always had, because she only knew the two he’d taught her, but never wanted to give it away.

“Texas Hold ‘Em it is,” he said with a grin, returning to the counter and dropping the cards out into his hand to shuffle them.

They sat together like that, playing hand after hand, and avoiding all talk of Reinette and the upcoming wedding.  Instead, they talked about Uni and all the places she’d visited, and his long hours of fiddling and design to create the chip that was making him more money than he ever really wanted.  He found himself talking more than he ever had about why he’d been a butler at all; she knew the basics, talking to him all those years.  The standard sob story about his family dying, and the way he’d drifted for years after leaving the group home, applying at the Tyler’s on a whim mostly because he was tired of odd jobs and occasionally sleeping in his car. 

He told her about the time he’d nearly quit, because this wasn’t him, staying in one place and serving some posh family.  Her dad had taken John’s letter of resignation, and told him that he was more than welcome to leave...but that there’d always be a place for him at the Tylers, no matter what.  He’d taken the letter back without a word.

He didn’t tell her about the other time he’d nearly quit, that Christmas she’d invited her family to Greece, because he realized she was never coming home, and waiting for her was too painful.  About how he’d started focusing his myriad of interests into finding something useful to do.  Something that wasn’t staying in her home without her.

She told him about the professor that said her photography was amateur, and that girls like her were better off planning parties and leaving serious art to those more suited.  How she’d wanted to make him swallow his pretentiousness with a gallon of developing chemicals, but couldn’t help wondering if he’d been right...but couldn’t forget the children she’d photographed in Africa and Russia and Colombia.  And how, in the middle of grand charity galas...she still missed that life of travel.

“I should get to bed,” she said finally, hours later.  “You too.  Sure you’ve got...plans for tomorrow.”

She stood, and he stared down at the cards he’d gathered in his hands as she rinsed out her mug and left it in the sink.  They’d skirted around it so much...probably for the best.  Leave the past in the past, look toward tomorrow, all those...pitiful platitudes that people spouted to hide their regret.

Unfortunately, he’d never been very good at listening to those.

“Rose, wait.”  He stood, swallowing hard when she turned at the door.  “About...before you left.”

“John, you don’t have to--”

“Yes, I do,” he said, closing the distance between them in a couple of strides and holding her in place gently with a hand on her arm.  “Whatever else, you need to know...it wasn’t you.”

She frowned in confusion.  “I don’t--”

“There were...so many reasons I couldn’t,” he continued, sending a silent thanks to the universe that she wasn’t leaving.  “You were...so young, and had everything in front of you.  I was just your butler...and you deserved so much more than that.”  Her brow cleared as her eyes widened and she searched his own.  “But you have to know that in all the reasons I gave myself for pushing you away that night, not wanting you never entered the equation.  I’d have counted myself lucky to have you.”

She stared up at him for a moment, then took a small step forward and leaned up to press her lips to his.

John lost all perspective the second she kissed him, the entire universe seeming to narrow to that singular point of contact. It was only when he felt her start to pull back that he realized that he'd frozen, and his scope widened enough to remember he had hands.  He slipped them around her waist, keeping her close as he angled his head to press his mouth more firmly to hers. Her own hands rose to his head, and he let out an appreciative hum against her lips at the gentle scratch off her nails on his scalp.  When her tongue hesitantly swiped across his lower lip, his grip on her tightened, pulling her flush against him as he explored her open mouth greedily.

He wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted--he didn't really care.  When they did finally break apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers, not yet able or at all willing to allow any distance.  Five years of dreaming about kissing her like that, and every single fantasy had paled in comparison to the reality of having Rose in his arms.  He felt lightheaded, dizzy, in ways he never had with--

The name was like a bucket of ice water on his overheated body.  He was engaged to be married in a week, to someone who was very much not the woman in his arms.  If he'd had second thoughts before, he was having third, fourth, _twelfth_ thoughts now, most having to do with the fact that he was clearly never going to get over Rose, and never wanted to try again.

But this isn't how he wanted things with them.  He'd let enough get between them; he needed to take care of the Reinette situation before he could pursue anything else with Rose, for both their sakes.

Regretfully, he took a step back, swallowing hard and trying not to shiver at the loss of her warmth.  Her eyes were still closed, but they fluttered open when he raised a hand to her cheek.

"Rose--"

"Oh my god," she interrupted, suddenly looking like she couldn't decide whether to cry or be sick.  "Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening again."

"No, Rose--"  He growled in frustration when she backed away hurriedly, covering her mouth with one hand.  "I...I'm engaged."

She nodded quickly.  "Yeah...yeah, I know," she said, lowering her hand enough to be understood.  "I just...god, I'm so _stupid_."

"No, Rose, please--" She backed away further when he reached for her, shaking her head as her eyes grew suspiciously bright.

"Don't, there's not--I can't do this."

"Rose!"

But she was already gone, darting down the hall to the back stairs.  He stood uncertainly at the door, poised on the balls of his feet, but what else could he say right now?  He'd already mucked things up again on an epic scale, and he wasn't sure he could convince her how wrong she was about the situation while still being attached to another woman.

He sighed, running his hands down his face as he leaned against the door jam.  A glance at his watch confirmed that it was far too early to go see Reinette...he'd be better off trying to get some semblance of sleep for a few hours before tearing off to her place to break the news.  He trudged up the stairs, suddenly getting about thirty years older.

He lasted all of twenty minutes in his room before saying "to hell with it."

oOoOo

It took hours for John to return to the house.  At first, Reinette had thought he'd shown up in the wee hours of the morning because he'd finally decided to spend the night with her.  When it became clear that this was not the case, she'd snapped completely.

He assured her several times that it was his decision, and his alone, denying any influence by Rose...which was more or less true--she'd never actually _asked_ him to end things with Reinette after all.  But he still felt guilty about breaking it off, and withstood everything she threw at him--insults, accusations, and, at one point, a vase, although he ducked that time.

It was only when it became clear that she was less upset about losing him than she was about the black mark it would leave on her precious reputation that his patience started dwindling.  Rose had been right, he'd never really been anymore than a fashionable accessory to her.  He realized that nothing he could say was going to make things better for either of them, and he was wasting his time trying to soothe her wounded pride while the woman he wanted was at home nursing a wound he'd once again created in a thoroughly misguided attempt to do the right thing.

He finally stormed out mid-morning, shaking his head when she shouted after him that he'd lose her father's investment.  He didn't need it anymore, and if he had one less person to pay out to, well...every bad situation had a silver lining, didn't it?

He was exhausted when he did finally pull back into the drive.  His plans now consisted of telling Rose, then pulling her into his bed for some much needed sleep.  Everything else was something for his future, more awake self to deal with.

"John?" Jackie's voice called from the dining room when he entered.  "That you?"

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing at one eye as he followed the voice to find the two elder Tylers still enjoying breakfast.  He slumped into a chair at the table as a maid brought him coffee--something he usually scoffed at, having been a servant himself not so long ago, but was more than happy to allow this morning.

"We were worried when Anita said you weren't in your room," Jackie said as he gulped at the warm, bitter liquid.  "It's too bad you weren't able to see Rose off."

"Yeah, I had something to take care of," he said, fingers ruffling through his hair.  He froze, though, when his sleepy brain processed her words.  "Hold on, what?  What do you mean see Rose off?"

"She left an hour ago for Heathrow," Pete explained, and alarm shot through John, effectively chasing away his exhaustion.  "Apparently, she's decided that her last week of prescribed vacation would be better spent on a beach in Spain."

John lurched to his feet, sprinting for the door, only to be stopped by the butler.

"Wilson, listen, now isn't the best--"

"A car is coming around for you now, sir," the butler said mildly.  "I believe he's promised to break all traffic laws in existence between here and the airport." John stared at him uncomprehendingly.  "Also, I've taken the liberty of retrieving your passport as a failsafe."

John took the proffered booklet automatically as his brain whirred, trying to catch up.

"You...are a very...good butler," he finally managed.

"Quite, sir," Wilson replied, the ghost of a smile hovering over his lips for a second before a car horn beeped outside.  "Your car, sir."

John darted outside, yanking the car door open before diving inside, slamming it shut again amidst the sound of squealing tires as the car shot off down the drive.

He spent the drive twitching impatiently, willing the car to go faster or some error to hold Rose at the airport until he got there.  The car didn't even come to a complete stop outside the terminal before he was pushing the door open and throwing himself out.  He ran inside, scanning the departure schedule frantically.  His heart sank when he saw a flight to Madrid had just left, until his eyes found the flight destined for Barcelona.

The beaches of Spain, Pete had said.  She'd be headed for the coast.  He sprinted toward security, ignoring the complaints from other patrons as he cut in front of them and dive for the metal detector.

"Hold it, sir," a security officer said, stopping him with a have firmly planted on his chest.  "Can't just have you cutting in front of all these people."

"Please," John begged. "Look, it's an emergency.  I haven't even got any bags or anything.  Wand me if you like, I won't be taking up much time, but I've _got_ to get to the gate."

The guard hesitated a second, then made an impatient sound.  "I shouldn't be doing this, but fine.  Boarding pass."

"I haven't--"  The security guard's expression hardened.  "Look, I just need to see someone--"

"No boarding pass, no clearance," the security guard said firmly, crossing his arms and standing in front of the metal detector.

John growled in frustration, spinning around and running for the ticket counter, once again cutting the line with only a muttered apology.  He gave the shocked attendant the flight information hurriedly as he pulled out his credit card and passport.

"The only available seat I have is in first class," the attendant said after giving in to the inevitable.  "There's a fee for late booking."

"Fine, whatever, I don't care," he replied, pushing his credit card toward her.  He was fully prepared to pay for a flight to bloody Timbuktu if it got him past security.

He snatched the boarding pass from her as soon as it was held out and tore off again for security, waving his boarding pass, passport, and ID at the guard before diving through the metal detector and hurtled toward the gate, cursing under his breath when he heard the boarding announcement.

He scanned the waiting area at the gate, and his heart gave a lurch when he saw her at the door to the bridge.

"Rose!"

She turned at the shout, her eyes widening in shock when she saw him.

"John?  What are you--"  She turned again, mumbling an apology to the gate attendant before ducking under the rope to meet him halfway across the waiting area.  "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't really think I'd let you disappear on me for another five years, did you?" he asked, breathless and feeling like he'd just sprinted a marathon.

She shook her head.  "It's better this way.  John, you're engaged--"

"Not anymore," he cut in, shaking his head at her startled expression.  "That was the only reason I backed off last night, I needed to end things with Reinette.  It would never have worked...it was always you."  She was still staring at him.  He swallowed hard, saying the words he should have said to her years ago.  "I love you, Rose Tyler."

When she kissed him this time, he didn't freeze and didn't hold back, wrapping his arms around her and deepening the kiss without a second thought.  When she finally broke the kiss gently, he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers again.

"I love you too," she whispered, and he chuckled--a subdued response, given that he felt like the sun had finally come out for the first time after years of rain.  She pulled away slightly to look up at him.  "What now?"

His mouth moved soundlessly--his most immediate plans involved kissing her again, quite a lot, preferably in several strategic places on her body, and hadn't really thought much further than that.  He was saved from answering, however, when the gate attendant approached them hesitantly.

"I'm sorry, miss," she said, glancing between them as they turned to her.  "But...it’s final boarding."

Rose started to shake her head, then looked back at John as he pulled one arm back from around her.  They both looked down at the boarding pass he'd forgotten he was holding, and he grinned when she raised her eyes to his with a tongue-touched grin.

"How about Barcelona?"


End file.
